


I'm Sorry (that I'll want you again)

by soullessbrothers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dark, Denial, Guilty Sam, Jealous Sam Winchester, M/M, Non-Consensual, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Oblivious Dean, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 14:55:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1134007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soullessbrothers/pseuds/soullessbrothers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean flirts at a bar. Sam can't take it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Sorry (that I'll want you again)

Dean holds up two fingers and the girl behind the bar blushes. A lean and his elbows knock down to the wood, a whisper and he’s against her ear. From across the bar, Sam sits at a table, laptop out. He glares at the screen. Even through the chatter, he’s convinced he can hear every filthy murmur. He knows Dean’s game. Sweet, flattering and dirty. He would roll his tongue over his teeth, lips parted and shiny-wet. When he talks, he’ll give the slightest flex to his hips for a hint of what’s on offer. Sam glances over. The dim light doesn’t hide the girl’s blush. Sam can’t take it.

His laptop slams with a hard plastic click and he shoves it into his bag. Dean laughs. That’s enough. Sam throws the strap over his shoulder and coughs behind Dean’s head. When Dean ignores him, he jams in at the bar beside him, elbow in his side. Dean’s easy smile tightens at the edges and he kicks out at Sam’s ankle.

“Jesus Christ, Dean!”

It breaks the spell. The girl has another customer and when she leaves to take the order, Dean scowls. Sam is triumphant, but it doesn’t show on his face. Instead, he grabs the fabric of Dean’s sleeve and tugs.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Dean hisses. “Dude, not cool.”

“I swear to God.”

“Screw you. What, you jealous, Sammy? Thought your goddamn computer got WiFi.”

Sam narrows his eyes. He bites fingertips into Dean’s forearm, pinprick bruises that would spend the night spreading purple-blue, until Dean curses.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

Outside the bar, far around a corner, Dean has enough. Sam is quiet, expression taut. A few more moments and at an alley’s maw, Dean yanks free and shoves at Sam’s loosened hand.

“I’m fucking serious. Time of the month, huh?”

“Nice, Dean. Nice.”

“No, c’mon. Any reason you gotta cockblock me?”

“That’s kinda rich, don’t you think?”

“I dunno what—”

Sam crashes Dean back. They spin together. Dean tries to punch, but hard brick forces the air from his lungs. There’s metal in Sam’s grip. He’s mechanical in the shove, hot iron in the breath that covers Dean’s face.

“Fuck you, Sam.”

“Fuck me, Dean? Really?”

“What the fuck are you doing? Jesus fucking Christ.”

There’s a growl when Sam jabs a knee between Dean’s legs. It’s high enough to nip the side of Dean’s thigh. Dean yanks it away, apart, and Sam ignores the scrape of wall through his jeans.

“Sam,” Dean warns.

“Shut up. God, Dean, shut up.”

A snap and Sam’s forearm presses a hard line against Dean’s throat. His head is wrenched back hard, another knock against the wall. He hisses, bucks to try and free himself, but it isn’t enough. As soon as Dean’s mouth opens, Sam snatches it for himself. Lip to lip, Dean snarls and bites. Sam almost yelps and the arm at Dean’s neck folds and jolts to backhand him. Dean stills. There’s another crack of flinch and knuckle. Even a few steps shy of the streetlamp, it’s plain to see where Dean’s cheek jaw has darkened.

“Sam?”

Dean’s voice dips into uncertainty and Sam sags. He drops his forehead to rest at Dean’s and it keeps them close, breathing together.

“Dean—”

“C’mon.”

“Dean, I—”

“You gotta tell me what’s going on here, man.”

“Don’t, I just—”

“I swear to God, Sam, you don’t start talking soon, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

Sam can feel the tremble in Dean’s hands when they rest on Sam’s shoulders. He barks a laugh, bitter, uncared for, lost. Dean frowns. That stops Sam’s noise.

“You know what? I’m tired. I’m tired, Dean. I’m tired of you ignoring me and pretending that there’s nothing going on.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“You, with that, that girl, and it’s the same, okay? It’s the same everywhere we go.”

Pressure eases between them and it’s Dean’s turn to chuckle. “Aw, Sammy. You need help getting laid? Ladies kinda freaked about fucking a sasquatch, huh?”

“No. _No_. Aren’t you even listening? God, Dean, what you do to me—”

Sam cuts with a kiss enough to bruise. Mouths closed, he grinds their faces together. Dean makes to shove at Sam, push him away, but Sam pins him with his hips. He pulls back from the kiss, takes another, over and over until Dean’s lips are swollen, even more than his own.

“Get the fuck off me!”

Dean yanks his head to the side to keep away from Sam’s unwanted kisses. For his trouble, Sam breathes heat onto newly exposed skin. The kisses continue there, hard, until Sam grazes his teeth. He bites down and Dean grits back a yell.

“You’re fucking, Sam, it’s me!”

The bruise spreads out fast, pink, then red, purple dashes where teeth sank in. A little more and they could have broken skin. Sam relents and kisses it, worships with softer nips until his tongue flecks out to taste.

Whiskey.

Sweat.

_Dean._

“You can’t keep doing this, Dean,” Sam says, “you can’t keep throwing all this stuff at me and think I’m just gonna keep taking it.”

“Are you fucking drunk? Or high? Or is this some kinda weird job thing? Because right now, you ain’t looking like Sammy to me.”

“Cut the crap, Dean!”

“Excuse me?”

“The only one who’s been drinking is you. I’m not, I’m not high. I’m just sick and tired of you going into those fucking places and, and—”

“And what?”

Sam sighs. “And choosing them over me.”

“Dude, banging some chick ain’t me ditching you. You’re supposed to outgrow this, you’re a fucking man now, Sam.”

Those wrong words stiffen Sam’s melted limbs. The steel is back and Sam grabs Dean’s lapels. He drags hard, sudden, until they’re chest to chest and he can glare ice into Dean’s blown eyes.

“Oh, I’m a man, right, Dean? Yeah? I’m a man?”

“Too goddamn right, you’re a man. Start fucking acting like one.”

“Right. Yeah. Okay. Okay. I’ll act like a man. Yeah. Like you, right? I gotta act like you?”

“That’s not what I fucking—”

“No, man, I get it. Act like a man.”

Dean starts to say something else, but Sam lets his right hand drop. It balls and the fist is rock in Dean’s solar plexus. He shouts. Tears dot his eyes and the huff of more lost air doubles him over. Sam thinks that he can hear a swear, or the ghost of one, so he steps back, letting Dean drop to the ground on his own. The hit was harder than he expected. Dean hadn’t had time to prepare, so his head is dropped. He sucks in the air that was stolen from him.

“That enough of a man for you, Dean? Want me to keep going?”

“Jesus Christ—”

“It’s not fair. You’re not fair. You play these, these stupid mind games and we have enough to think about instead of you fucking with me all the time!”

“You want me to say ‘uncle’?” he rasps, “’Cos you can suck it, Sam.”

“I can, huh? Yeah? Fine.”

Dean looks up and Sam’s palm is at his crown. Fingers clench around short hair and force his head back. From that angle, the bruise is on show. His mark. Sam’s mark. Sam’s property.

He uses his position to his advantage and thrusts his knee out. Dean falls back, another puff of air lost at the wall. He’s crowded. Sam uses his left hand to fumble over his jean button and zip.

“Sam, you’re not, you wouldn’t—”

“It’s your fault.”

Sam is wet with his own tears. He reaches into his boxers and eases his cock through the gap at the front. His eyes flick back to the mark he made, _minemineminedeanpleasemine_ and he twitches.

“Sa—”

It’s cut off when Sam bucks. Dean’s teeth graze him, he wasn’t open, wasn’t ready, so Sam hitches breath and forces deeper. He hears Dean’s choke, sees the red in his panicked look. Sam holds there. There’s more than an inch past Dean’s lips. He could bite down, end it, and Sam can see the war there, the doubt and quick plans that usually save their lives. Bite or submit. Bite or submit. _Bite or submit._

Dean looks away and his jaw goes slack.

There’s relief in Sam’s sigh. Dean can’t hurt his brother. Dean can’t hurt his brother. Sam feels his tears run and bleed into his voice.

“God, Dean, I’m, I’m just—”

The grip in Dean’s hair relaxes. Slow, careful, Sam pushes more of himself into Dean’s mouth. He holds him steady but doesn’t want to hurt. Not again.

Not too far, he has to remind himself, so Sam retreats a little. It leaves the head of his cock in Dean’s mouth, the extra inch shiny with Dean’s heat. He’s so hard. Sam doesn’t know when it happened, adrenaline clouding sensation. The snap at Dean, the hit, the way Dean looks so vulnerable on his knees.

“Look at me,” Sam breathes.

Garden green, dangerous, cuts up at Sam. Holds him with accusation and apology. Sam feels his lip tremble. Even now, even here, Dean would blame himself. He needs to be taken care of, shown that he’s needed, that he’s wanted.

“Keep, keep looking.”

Sam rocks forward again. He moves just as slowly, in further every time until the tip of his cock brushes the back of Dean’s throat. Dean lets out a strangled noise, anguish, and swallows. The squeeze is unbearable. Sam stutters his hips harder. The fist in Dean’s hair tightens again and pulls him close when Sam fucks in. Harder makes Sam gasp and faster makes Dean cry.

It’s too short, too fucking short, but the build and desire and want force Sam’s orgasm. He fills Dean’s mouth, leaving him sloppy-raw and Sam calls for him, shaky, under his breath. His cock softens, as do his thrusts, but he keeps going. Dean’s eyes are closed now, brow tight knitted, but Sam has to keep watching. Every roll of his hips drive a little more of his come to leak from the edges of Dean’s mouth. Sam buries deeper and holds. He knows how to make Dean swallow. Dean knows too, he fights it, but still it falls, automatic.

“Dean,” Sam whispers.

There’s an obscene, wet sound when Sam pulls free of Dean’s mouth. He lets go and takes a step back, another, on shaken legs to stare down at what he’s done. Dean drops his head. His breathing is laboured like his lungs are seared. He wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist, then his chin. It’s involuntary when his tongue licks over his lips. When he stands, he’s trembling. Dean’s trembling.

“Dean?”

“Better head back to the motel.”

His voice is wrecked, gruff. There’s no tightness of denim and no looking at Sam.

“Dean—”

“We’ll figure out where next in the morning. I could sleep for a fucking week.”

“Listen, I—”

“You coming or what?”

Red, Sam shakes when he pushes his dick under his clothes. Dean turns further away from him at the sound of the zip back in place.

“Dean, I’m sorry.”

There’s hesitation. “Yeah. Yeah. Chick was, she was totally a seven. I’ll just, next town, Sammy. It’s okay.”

It didn’t sound okay. Sam closes the gap between them and sees Dean’s shoulders hunch. He puts his hand back on his arm, softer than before. Dean lets him. He doesn’t relax.

“Dean—”

“Let’s go.”


End file.
